Flight
by JacquiT
Summary: Post 9.02, The Happy Place. One-shot. Sara and Nick share an evening while she waits to catch her flight. GSR, but not really. Snickers, but not really.


**_Flight_**

"Eighteen _hours_? Eighteen hours for another flight. I have to wait _eighteen hours_ for another flight."

"I'm sorry ma'am . . . that's the next flight we can offer to San Francisco."

Despite her words, the polished brunette behind the counter did not sound at all apologetic, and Sara Sidle had no choice but to impatiently wait for her ticket to be issued. She complained bitterly as she tucked the ticket into her purse and then rolled her suitcase away.

She really didn't need this. Leaving Gil – again – was hard enough. Leaving Hank and the apartment, and the man she loved in grief had brought her to tears, but she knew she needed to go. The simple fact was that Sara was finally in a peaceful place and Gil was either unwilling or unable to follow here there. For her own good mental health, she couldn't wait for him. Not again.

She had wanted to get right onto a plane, but her funds were tight and she simply couldn't afford any other airline's pricing, not at the last minute. She had a pretty good idea of what she'd do when she returned, and it didn't involve unpacking. And until she was able to get there, she knew _exactly_ what she'd do.

Go stir-crazy sitting in an airport for eighteen hours.

Slumping in a hard plastic chair, she sighed. She reached into her shoulder bag to extract her novel, but after about twenty minutes of staring at the same page, she put it back, and took out her phone instead.

The games that it had come with were a great time-killer, mindless entertainment that sucked a person in. She spent a good hour playing solitaire and then an inane stacking game, but bored of both as her eyes became dry and irritated from the lack of blinking.

She supposed she could use the phone to actually call someone. Greg came to mind. He would be enough of a friend to have a happy, meaningless conversation with her so she could kill time. Greg could ask her forensics questions and she could focus on the science she knew instead of how she felt. But really, she wasn't in the mood, and besides that, she had already said goodbye to Greg when she left the lab for the last time, once she was finished helping him wrap up his paperwork for the case against Tom Adler.

"_I'm going back, Greg. You know that, right?" she had asked when their conversation lulled._

_He had looked up at her, his eyes solemn. "Yeah, I guess I figured you would," he replied, his words laced with regret._

"_I just can't do this anymore," she had explained. "I can't shut it off anymore."_

_Greg had nodded. "I understand. I don't want to see you go again, but I understand."_

They had shared a hug, and she was off to the apartment she used to share with Grissom to pack the few things she had brought with her.

Catherine came to mind next, but her relationship with Catherine was complicated. Sara knew that Catherine ultimately respected her professional abilities, but the two were so different. The word 'girlfriend' would never be applicable. This was not to say that Sara didn't like Catherine, because actually the reverse was true. Catherine had a strength about her that Sara admired. It was not a learned behavior – that kind of confidence and bravado had been taught to Catherine by her mother and at times Sara was, quite frankly, jealous of it.

Catherine didn't need to be told that Sara wasn't staying. The last time they had seen each other, passing causally by in the lab, Catherine had stopped her.

"_Hey, Sara," she said, nonchalance in her tone. She met Sara's eyes, though, so Sara stopped._

"_Hey, Cath," she had replied. "How, uh . . . how are you?"_

"_I'm all right," she said with a nod. "You?"_

_Sara had smiled, a little sadly. "I'll be okay."_

"_Good. Hey – take care of yourself, okay?"_

_Sara's smile had widened. "Yeah. You too, Cath."_

The two had shared a smile and parted ways, and Sara knew she wouldn't see Catherine again for a long time.

She thought of others in the lab – Doc Robbins, Jim Brass, Henry, Mandy, Wendy . . . incredibly talented and knowledgeable, dedicated to their work, and kind-hearted people, all of them. When she left the first time, abruptly, life had gone on. When she came back, despite the circumstances they were happy to see her.

But there was one person who, she sensed, wasn't all that happy to see her. Not that she expected him to be happy to see her – his best friend had just died, after all – and it wasn't that she felt she deserved his attention, but she didn't really expect the level of animosity she felt from Nick Stokes. He'd hugged her in Grissom's office, but it wasn't his usual, arms-all-the-way-around, squeeze-until-you're-blue, cheek-to-cheek hug.

Nick was angry at Sara. Staring at her phone in the airport, she thought, _Well, if I'm ever going to find out why, I'd better call now. _

"Stokes."

"Hey, Nick. It's Sara."

"Oh . . . hey, Sara. What's up?"

"Do you have a few minutes?" she asked, her voice a little shakier than she wanted it to be.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, his easy demeanor relaxing Sara a little bit. Nick always had a spare moment for a friend.

"I'm at the airport, Nick."

He needed no further explanation, and there was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "So . . . figured it would be a good idea to call me this time?"

Sara realized this must be the source of his cool behavior toward her. "About that, Nick . . . I'm sorry."

"Me too," he replied. "Sara, I thought we were friends. Didn't you think you could trust me? Didn't you think . . . ." He trailed off, lost for words.

"I didn't think," she said gently. "All I knew was that I needed out, so that's where I got."

"And now?"

"Now . . . I just know I can't stay."

"Not even for Grissom?"

"Grissom's got his own demons to deal with, Nicky; I can't do that for him and neither can you."

"I know," came Nick's drawl. "Listen, Sar . . . can I come to the airport and maybe buy you dinner? Can I give you a proper send-off this time?"

She smirked unconsciously. "Well, my flight doesn't leave for sixteen more hours, so I've got time," she said.

"And you're going to wait for it alone? C'mon, Sar. Get over here. We can have dinner, you can crash on my couch, and I'll wake you in plenty of time to get your flight."

She was starting to regret having called him. Nick, with his six siblings, always wanted to take care of people, sometimes to his detriment. Right now, she didn't want to be taken care of, she just wanted to move on. "I don't know, Nick . . ."

"I think you kinda owe me one, Sar."

She sighed. "All right," she conceded, as though it were an imposition. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

When Nick opened his door to Sara, she was smiling. He grinned his lopsided Texas grin right back. "Hey," he said gently. "Thanks for comin' over."

She stepped inside his cozy townhouse and looked around. "It's me that should be thanking you," she replied. "This is much nicer than the airport."

"Thanks." He shut the door behind her. "I ordered some Chinese . . . should be here soon. I know you're not a meat eater, so . . . I just got you some lo mein and stir-fried vegetables."

She grinned, touched that he remembered. "Oh . . . thanks, Nicky. That sounds great," she replied with another smile, following him into his kitchen. He offered her a beer; she accepted. "I'm starving. I don't think I've eaten all day."

Nick opened his own beer and pulled out a kitchen chair for Sara. She sat down, he sat across from her at the little round table. They were quiet for a moment, Nick looking at his table and Sara looking casually around the kitchen.

"So," she began softly, "do you . . . wanna talk?"

Nick met her eyes. His were slightly amused, rounded and crinkled at the corners, more so than she remembered. Maybe it was just his fatigue and grief, but they looked a little more puppy-dog than usual. "No," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm tired of work and I'm tired of thinkin' about Warrick."

She chuckled a little. "Understandable," she replied, and then sipped her beer. "So what do you want to do?"

"Forget," he replied. "Just forget."

Sara's brow crinkled with concern. "How much forgetting have you been doing lately, Nick?"

He sipped his beer and paused before he answered her. "Not enough. I try, Sara, really try, but it's like . . . like a broken record . . . like a scene from a horror movie looping over and over in my head. And I have no distraction – Greg's got his book and Cath's got Lindsey . . . I don't have anything else to focus on. I can't sleep . . . the job helps, but it ain't enough." He took another draw off his beer bottle. "I tried, one time, to knock myself out – four or five shots of whiskey right after work and all I got was sick."

Sara wanted to squeeze him. . "I'm sorry, Nick," she replied softly.

His beer at his lips again, he held up a finger. "Don't – don't be sorry," he said once he swallowed. "I'm tired of everyone being sorry. Really, Sar, I just want to forget. I want to laugh, okay, so let's just . . . I don't know. Let's just eat our dinner, make fun of Ecklie, and watch a movie. Then maybe I'll be able to get some rest."

Sara nodded sympathetically. "Okay," she whispered, and the doorbell rang. Nick rose to answer it, paid the delivery boy, and brought the brown paper bag full of Chinese food back to the table. A few moments later, chopsticks working, she swallowed a bite of lo mein and asked, "So . . . how's that Riley workin' out?"

Nick grunted, his mouth full of kung pao chicken. "Okay, I guess. She kinda gets on my nerves."

"Chatty?"

"No." Nick swallowed and washed down the spicy food with a gulp of beer, making a mental note to ensure he had some Tums because he'd need them later on. "She likes to challenge me."

"Well . . . that's not always a bad thing. I mean, it's part of how we learn and grow."

"'S'not what I mean," he replied with a smirk. "She questions me – my methods, my authority, my knowledge. I been at this more 'n ten years, Sar. If I didn't know what I was doin' by now Grissom woulda canned me. I got enough goin' on in my head, I don't need her undermining me."

Sara grinned. "Steppin' on your toes?"

"More'n necessary."

"She's not there to replace Warrick, you know. She's there to do a job – fill a position. That's all."

"I know," he drawled. He paused in his eating and sighed. "I know I gotta give her a fair shot, but it ain't easy."

Sara smiled at him. "You'll be all right, Nicky," she assured him. "You're too much of a nice guy to not get along with her eventually."

Nick rolled his eyes. "You're probably right." The distaste in his tone was palpable. "I hate bein' predictable . . . a nice guy . . . probably why I can't find a decent woman."

"Stop looking for a good lay first," she said, without thinking. Nick laughed and turned pink, but flipped her the bird. She giggled and said, more seriously, "It's who you are, Nick."

He grunted and returned to his kung pao chicken. "What about who you are?" he asked. "Sara, we never talked about this – why'd you leave in the first place? I know you went through a lot in the desert, but . . ."

She gave him an affectionate look. "But so did you, and you're still around?"

"Well . . . yes and no. I mean, I had my moments when I wanted to leave and go back to Dallas, but I didn't. Certain people in this room badgered me until I went to a therapist and hammered some stuff out."

Sara tried not to take his bitter tone too personally. "Nick, you know I had to go see a therapist before I came back to work. Lab policy – I got the lecture from Ecklie, Catherine, _and_ Grissom."

"Knowin' you saw the same quack I did, I ain't impressed."

Sara put her chopsticks down to level her gaze at Nick's puppy-dog eyes and couldn't help but grin. "You know, your accent gets thicker when you're tired and annoyed."

Nick's cheeks turned slightly pink and he grinned. "You're avoiding."

She swallowed and sat back in her seat. "What I needed wasn't a therapist and I knew it," she said, her tone grave. "I needed to get away from the job, and I needed to face some things I ran away from."

Nick put the little white box down on the table and nodded. "Are you happy now?" he asked. "I mean . . . aside from losing Warrick and bein' in the middle of a lover's quarrel with Grissom."

"I'm . . . at peace," she replied, knowing that Nick would know what it meant. "With myself. I'm not at peace with what happened to Warrick or what's going on between Gil and me, but that takes time."

He nodded, looking away, wishing he could be at peace again, as well. "That's good." He met her eyes and assured her, "Really, Sara . . . I'm happy for you. I'm glad to know you found peace."

She held his gaze, knowing his thoughts almost better than he did. "Nick, if you had gone out there with Warrick, McKeen would've shot you, too. Or he would've waited until Warrick got home, or some other time when Warrick was alone."

Nick's voice was thick when he replied, "That doesn't help, Sara."

"But it's the truth," she said gently, "and eventually, it _will_ help."

He smirked, but his eyes remained somber. "That's a very _Grissom_ thing to say."

Again, the new, more grounded Sara was able to read into his smirk and the tone as he stressed her lover's name. "Why are you so angry with him, Nick?"

Nick sighed and then chugged what was left of his beer. "I'm just angry," he admitted. "Gotta be angry at someone, I guess." He paused a moment to collect his thoughts, picking at the label of his bottle. "I just want . . . Grissom doesn't know what it's like to be brothers with someone," he decided on as he looked up at Sara. "The last twelve years, workin' with Warrick . . . whatever life's thrown at me, or him, or the team, we always had each other. When I got kidnapped, Warrick was there for me – when he was startin' to spin out of control, I'll be damned if I didn't do my best to stop him. He pulled away from me but he was still my brother, and now he's gone." He shook his head, looking away.

"And you're angry," surmised Sara in a low and gentle voice, "because you want to be able to turn to Grissom, but you can't."

"It's not his fault, really," said Nick absently as he picked. "He just doesn't get why I need . . . and he's dealin' with his own crap, just like everyone else . . . so it's just supposed to be business as usual, but it ain't." He shook his head again, and then made a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat. "This ain't helpin' me forget," he declared, getting up from the table. "C'mon, let's watch a movie."

Sara smiled. "Okay," she agreed. "What do you have?"

She followed him to the living room where he reviewed his DVD collection and then selected one triumphantly. "Right here – this'll do it."

"_The 40 Year-Old Virgin_?" she questioned, her brow quirked. "Isn't that dumb guy toilet humor?"

"Oh, give it a shot, Sar," he said, not asking before he put the disc into the player. "Besides, does it look like I got _Sex and the City_ around here anywhere?"

She conceded with a smile and sat next to him on the couch, where she did not expect to laugh much at all. To her surprise, she loved it, including Nick's cringing during the chest-waxing scene. When it was over, they were both in naturally lighter moods because of the laughter and decided to watch a Bond movie with another beer. It wasn't nearly as engaging as Steve Carell's random curses, however, and before it was over, they had fallen asleep.

Nick woke a few hours later to the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He didn't recall tucking himself into the corner of the couch, or Sara having leaned into him, so he was surprised that she now lay snuggled against his chest. He had a free arm, however, and managed to answer the phone just in time.

"Stokes."

"Nick, it's Grissom," came the voice on the other end, sounding a little haggard. "Have you talked to Sara lately? Do you know where she is?"

He put his feet up on the couch next to hers and made an effort to sound convincing. "Uh . . . do I know where Sara is . . . well . . . uh, no. No, I sure don't."

"Oh. I thought maybe . . . she would've called someone."

Deep down Nick felt a pang of guilt for lying to his boss, but his general anger was layered over it. "Nope," he replied. "Sorry, boss."

"OK. I'll uh . . . I'll see you at the lab tonight."

"Hey, I got the night off," Nick was quick to reply. "I need it, Griss . . . I know we're short staffed, but I need a break."

"Oh, that's right." Grissom sounded surprised. "No, it's all right. I just forgot."

Nick's brow creased at this comment, but all he said in reply was, "OK. See you tomorrow," and Grissom issued his own farewell before the sleepy Texan closed his phone. _He forgot? That's odd,_ he thought, but the comfort of Sara's warm body blanketing him was too intoxicating to allow any further pondering on the matter, and he closed his eyes and slept.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

When they woke they were still in each others' arms and disinclined to move, even though the DVD menu track was looping. "What time is it?" asked Sara, her voice a warm, low whisper.

Nick raised his arm to look at his watch. "Eight thirty," he replied. "You should be going."

"I'm pretty comfy right here," she said with a smile. Her fingers played with his t-shirt.

He enjoyed the sensation for a while, the fingers of his right hand trailing up and down her back. If she were anyone else – anyone at all – he knew he would roll her underneath him and apply his lips to all his favorite female parts. She didn't help any when she sighed and said, "That feels good," in a breathy voice.

"I could make it feel even better," he offered.

"I'm sure you could," she replied, smiling.

He lifted his arm and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "You're a beautiful woman, Sara."

She lifted her chin to face him, mesmerized by the deep Southern drawl of his voice. For the world, she didn't want to move. She felt safe and comforted, rather than being the comforter in the confused and angst-filled silences she spent with Grissom. She loved Gil – she truly did, with all her soul – but it had become quite clear that he was either unable or unwilling to make a change in his life.

And that thought, more than anything, that she was leaving without Gil and it was not her choice, led her to tilt her chin upwards a little more and shift her gaze from Nick's pointed nose to his big round eyes, not chocolate as usual but black, smoldering with a need she knew he didn't understand. He dipped his head to press his lips to hers gently, and she closed her eyes.

Nick's mouth opened slightly to take her bottom lip between his and she responded subconsciously, relaxing her jaw and allowing the contact. Later, she would look back on the moment and wonder why it didn't feel more wrong. Perhaps it was because they both needed the comfort of the familiar pleasure and the human contact; perhaps it was because they were both angry, in their different ways, at Gil Grissom.

Encouraged, Nick slipped his tongue along her lip and then into her mouth, and again Sara responded and joined him for a slow, sensuous kiss. Nick's fingers feathered themselves in Sara's hair and Sara's hand found Nick's hip and trailed upward, across his chest to his shoulder, and then curled around the back of his neck.

When he broke the kiss she rested her forehead against his. "Nicky. . . ."

"I'm sorry, Sara," he whispered, but he wasn't.

"You're an amazing guy, Nick," she said. "You'll find an amazing woman."

He had known for a long time that he and Sara ultimately didn't fit together, but it still stung a little to hear the gentle rejection from her lips. Especially now, when he really needed comfort. He tried to cover the hurt with humor. "You got any idea about when?"

Sara chuckled. "No . . . sorry, I don't." Then tilted her chin again to kiss his forehead, her fingers touching on his cheek. "I have to catch my flight."

He nodded wordlessly and allowed her to rise from the couch. "You wanna shower or anything?"

She accepted his offer gratefully, and slipped into the bathroom.

Nick felt cold when they parted and knew in the back of his mind that it wouldn't go away anytime soon. At least he would have the memory of their evening on his couch. And, for better or worse with Grissom, he wouldn't soon forget waking with her in his arms and the sumptuous kiss they shared.

He sent her on her way after sharing fruit and yogurt with her for breakfast. She kissed his cheek again before she left, and smiled. It struck him at that moment that the peace she felt was written plainly on her beautiful features; the hardened edge she had, to which he had become accustomed, was no longer there and he wondered whether something more could have developed between them if she had been more at peace when she originally came to Las Vegas.

In her rental car on the way to the airport, Sara tried to find a familiar radio station to listen to. She needed something upbeat and irreverent to keep her good mood, or the flight would drag her down. Once she arrived back home there was a lot to do to prepare for her next adventure, and that would be enough to continue to distract her from her heartache over Gil.

When the scanner landed on the bouncy, upbeat thumping of Katy Perry's _I Kissed a Girl_ she put her right hand back in her lap and started to hum along. When the chorus began, she sang along with her own modifications.

_I kissed a Stokes and I liked it  
__The taste of his waxy Chapstick  
__I kissed a Stokes just to try it  
__Screw Gil if he don't like it  
__It felt not wrong  
__It felt so right  
__Guess I'm not in love tonight  
__I kissed a Stokes and I liked it_

She smiled when the song was over and sighed. She'd miss Nick, but no more than she'd miss everyone else. In the beginning, it was Gil she had come for and Gil she stayed for, for so long. This time, she knew she couldn't stay, couldn't wait on him anymore. She was missing life, missing the adventure of learning that she loved, and she would grieve for her recent losses, both Warrick and Gil. But she was happy, and she had learned that dwelling on things didn't sustain happiness.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Nick Stokes was, and always had been, a very physical person. He always assumed this was just part of being a guy, and he was the kind of guy who utterly embraced his maleness. He needed the kind of comfort that a guy needed, and since Sara had passed on sex (which he would later be grateful for) he decided to go for a run.

He donned a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of shorts, and then his running shoes. Setting his teeny iPod to shuffle, he secured it to the collar of his shirt, made sure he had his key, and left the house.

On the sidewalk, he stretched a little but was too antsy to do much before he took off down the street. After a block or so, his breathing and stride in a rhythm, he started to really listen to the music blaring into his ears, changing some of the words as he silently sang along.

_I kissed your girl and I liked it  
__On her big pouty lipses  
__I kissed your girl just to try it  
__I sure hope that you don't like it  
__It felt so wrong  
__It felt so right  
__How'd you like "It's over" tonight?  
__I kissed your girl and I liked it_

As the song changed, Nick's one fleeting thought was that while Grissom was clueless about a lot of things, he wasn't an idiot and eventually, if he loved her enough, he'd go after Sara – to wherever she was going – which was good, because if he didn't, then Nick just might.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


End file.
